


Date Night

by ifwednesdaywasaflowerchild



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Little Black Dress, Steve can't cook, natasha can't wait
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 14:24:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13591953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifwednesdaywasaflowerchild/pseuds/ifwednesdaywasaflowerchild
Summary: Missions force Steve and Natasha to make their own date night at home so as to avoid getting interrupted. Only problem is, Steve wants dinner, and Natasha wants Steve.





	Date Night

There is, perhaps, only one thing the serum didn't give Steve Rogers and that was the ability to cook without the help of some form of literature, preferably a book. Apparently, it's more important to be able to kick someone's ass while squeezing your own ass into tights than to be able to feed yourself. He digresses; the serum had given him good health, and in a series of events indirectly related to the super-soldier serum, he, now, called Nat his best girl. 

But, there was also the Avengers, and just a busy schedule in general to consider. Subsequently, that constant demand had cancelled his long anticipated date night with his favorite girl. Determination had taken him to the nearest book store to acquire a cookbook and, now, here he is fumbling his way through a recipe for baked chicken, something that the book claimed was so easy a toddler could do it. He's just about figured out the simple (no, not at all) steps for mashed red potatoes when slender arms lock around his waist and she presses her head into that dip between his shoulder blades. 

"I'm sorry." her words are muffled by the collar of his navy shirt. 

Steve's shoulders tremble with silent laughter. "What are you apologizing for?" 

"Our date got cancelled because of another mission." Natasha sighs, even as her entire body melts into his. 

He lifts his shoulders in a shrug, words spilling from his mouth like wine; "I think we're doin' alright, at home, Nat." 

"Are you - " she lifts up on her tip-toes to peek over his shoulders, even if he is too thick for her to be able to see everything. "Are you cooking, Steve?" 

"Trying to." Steve grumbles, sticking a fork into the pot of boiling potatoes to check for tenderness. "It's not easy." 

Natasha nudges her face into the back of his neck and lets a silent giggle shudder through her. She forgets her soldier is a forties man; a time where men were given a uniform and a weapon, dropped in a jungle, and told to destroy the enemy. Something profoundly different from the aprons and cookbooks and utensils spread before him, now. He makes so much effort to fit in with this modern era he'd woken up in, that sometimes she genuinely does not realize he's from a different place in time. 

"Need some help, there, Soldier?" she mouths the warm skin above the collar of his shirt, still perfectly balanced on her tip-toes. 

Steve shakes his head, dropping the fork back onto the cradle on the counter, and turns, wrapping his arms around her. He leans down for a kiss, smiling at the familiarity of her soft, full mouth against his. "Nah," a breath against her lips. "I think I got it." 

"You sure?" 

"Yes." Steve lifts his head enough to press his mouth against her nose and then her forehead. "Why don't you go take a hot shower and I'll get dinner ready, okay?" 

"Sounds perfect, Soldier." she kisses his jawline before disappearing to shower - and, maybe, slip on that little black dress, he doesn't know about. Something to get him as revved as she felt when she saw him cooking. 

Steve is left to his baked chicken and what he hopes will be mashed potatoes as thick and creamy as Sarah Rogers used to make them - not likely, but he's not a pessimistic man, and if the book claims a toddler can do it, than by God, a ninety-something super soldier can do it. 

...

The little black dress is a long sleeved lace number with a bateau neckline and a deep V that just dips into the small of her back, where it lifts up into the swell of her ass - her lush ass, if she did say so, herself. The scrap of lace hits mid-thigh, just short enough to give him a peek at her silky panties in that soft creamy peach he always says makes her skin look extra good, and to make her legs look long. 

Okay, so date night at home maybe wasn't the intended occasion for a little black dress but it'd have the desired effect, and as much as she admired the time he'd put in to preparations, she'd like to skip straight to dessert, if he didn't mind. Which, she suspects, he doesn't. 

A dab of perfume, a quick fluff of her blow-dried curls, and she's ready. 

Steve may not be. 

... 

Chardonnay pairs best with chicken, keeps the meal light but still flavorful, so that's what he bought. It'd taken him an hour and three conference calls with Tony to figure out which one but he'd finally settled and paid more than he cared to think about for alcohol that wouldn't even get him drunk. 

But, he can still choke to death on it. 

And, that's exactly what he does when Natasha appears in the doorway of his make-shift dining room. Dark and tempting and so sexy with that smoky voice murmuring a seductive, "Hello Soldier!" 

"Shit!" Steve just barely manages to swallow the mouthful of wine, he'd taste tested. 

"You like?" she lifts her voice to an octave or two above its normal dark husk, giving a silly little twirl, as if modeling the dress for him in a store, but what she's really doing is giving him a glance at the back, or lack thereof, really. The expanse of creamy skin begging to be kissed and marked.   
His bright blue eyes darken, pupils dilating, and his gait changes; gone is romantic Steve who cooked her dinner, in his place is predatory Steve, stalking toward her with that grin full of unspoken promises. 

"You shouldn't do that, Natasha." a dark, dangerous growl, but instead of frightening her or shaming her, it does nothing but soak her panties. His hands wrap around her biceps, and like he did so long ago in a hospital, he shoves her into the nearest wall. "It is dangerous." 

"Dangerous?" bright green eyes simper up at him, her voice sounding oh-so-innocent, even though she most definitely not.   
His hand grazes her side, over her hip, and down past the hem of the dress, until his knuckles brush bare skin. "Yes." Steve skims her thigh with the tips of his finger, heavy eyes watching her, watching the way her eyes close, and how she shudders ever so slightly. Another gentle scrape and she's shuddering, again. "I could hurt you." 

"Maybe, I like pain." Nat brightens, eyes opening to reveal a challenging spark, and the pull of her mouth into a dark smirk dares him to take this into that previous unexplored territory. "I'm not fragile. You won't break me." 

"Is that a challenge?" 

"If you want it to be." she sinks a hand into his hair and pulls just hard enough to send a shuddering wave of something down his spine. A conflicting high; the wave of pain but the hard shudder of pleasure. 

His hips jerk, pinning her to the wall. 

"So," Natasha tugs his hair again, harder, curling her fingers into it just enough to widen his eyes. "What's it gonna be, Rogers?" 

Strong hands grip her biceps, turning her around, exposing her back to him, and he drops to his knees. "First of all," a wet rasp, arousal and ecstasy thick in his voice, mouth moving down her spine. "You're gonna get rid of this dress and I'm gonna help." 

"How do you intend to do that?" Natasha's breath catches in her throat, when his hands move to her thighs, holding them. 

Steve laughs against the small of her back, licking a hot stripe toward the point of the V, before growling hotly; "I'm gonna pin you against this wall and you're gonna take it off." 

His fingers tighten around her thighs when she reaches for the hem of her dress to pull it over her head. Her heavy breasts catch in the lace but a little maneuvering frees them and the scrap of lace flies somewhere behind them - table, probably. She's left in nothing a pair of soaked panties because date night at home meant no bra to confine her breasts and no pasties to conceal the fact that he could just barely touch her breasts, even by accident, and her nipples stood at attention, ready to be lavished with whatever he had in mind. 

"Good girl." he breathes, kissing the spot where her back lifts into her butt, thumbing the silk panties appreciatively. "I like this color on you, Nat." 

Natasha just groans, pushing her hips back into his touch, but a strong arm quickly puts her back against the wall. Steve stands up from the floor and reaches down to trail fingers between her legs, his own breath catching when he feels wet silk. He offers her a little relief in the form of hard circles against her bundle of nerves through her panties, listening to her hard breaths, soft gasps, and dark moans, hips moving, grinding against his hand, desperate for that high. 

"Not. Yet." it's a sharp command that stills her instantly, even if arousal does still throb, and she's fighting desperately not to fight back and grind herself on him until she finds the release she's looking for. "What do you want, Natasha?" 

"You." Natasha can barely whimper, leaning her forehead against the wall. 

"Natalia Alianovna." Steve's stern warning lets her know she better speak up if she wants him to give in. 

"I want you, you smug bastard!" she growls, glaring at him over her shoulder. "I suggest you lose the clothes otherwise, I'll get myself out of this, and rip them off." 

"Do it." 

Steve backs away from her, allowing her to turn around. There's a challenge in his eyes and a shit-eating grin she kind of wants to slap off of his face but also sort of wants to kiss him for, at the same time, and it's that kind of confliction that has her all but attacking him. Buttons clatter, leather stings his side when she pulls his belt off, and he barely has his feet out of his jeans and boxers when she's shoving him and staring pointedly at a chair, intending for him to sit. 

"I have a better idea." Steve wraps one arm around her back and grabs her thigh with his other hand, lifting her up. Her long, slender legs, all lean muscle, and balletic strength lock around his waist, and her fingers dig almost painfully into his shoulders as her mouth dominates a hard kiss. 

He braces them against the nearest wall and reaches between them to tug her panties out of the way. With a sharp thrust, he's buried inside of her, almost completely. Natasha pulls away from the kiss just long to cry out at the feel of him finally inside of her. A little harder jerk and he is completely surrounded by liquid heat. 

"Yes," Natasha breathes, moving her hips. "Yes." 

She's missed this. 

Missions had kept them from enjoying any sort of intimacy that didn't involve a quick kiss before he leapt out of a plane without a parachute and her power play from earlier had been a manipulation, almost. A way to get him riled up and ready for sex sooner than he would usually take. Not that she minded his pace as it usually meant, she felt boneless and completely satisfied by the end of it all, but tonight, she felt primal and ready for something harder and dirtier than usual. 

And, he's delivering with sharp bites along her collarbone and powerful thrusts. His super soldier serum meant stamina most men would kill for but she's still determined to dominate this one way or another. Pushing off of the wall, she manages a hard exhale, and a quick; "Chair. Sit down." 

Steve slows their frantic pace just long enough to sit down in a chair and let her dominate. Natasha makes quick work of shoving her panties down her legs and sinking down onto him, taking him completely. Her nails dig into his shoulders as she picks up the frantic pace, again. Steve takes advantage of the new angle and covers a nipple with his mouth while working the other at a similar pace with his fingers. 

"Steve, shit!" Natasha yelps, breathless from the exertion. 

But, he keeps going. 

So, she does, too.

Gasping and moaning and swearing fills their apartment and if either of them could think straight, they'd laugh at the realization that their neighbors are going to hate them. Something that is especially true when Natasha's climax has her cursing and groaning, long and loud, body trembling, legs shaking. Steve isn't far behind, eyes rolling, a low, deep groan following the sudden clench of muscle around him. 

When she finally comes down from her high, Natasha can't do anything but collapse against Steve, barely able to lift her hips enough to release him from the tight grip of contracting muscles. She's wrapped tight in his arms, now, exhausted, the need for hot, sweaty sex sated, the only need left is to be with him. 

"You okay, Nat?" he nudges his face into her shoulder, pressing soft kisses into her damp skin.

Natasha just nods, pressing her own face into his neck, arms loose around his broad shoulders, and eyes heavy with drowsiness. 

Steve rubs her back, still holding her close; his tender touch and soft, feather-light kisses ease her into sleep. It doesn't matter that they're both naked, dinner is cold, probably burned, and the sleeve of her dress is in a glass of wine. All that matters is that she clearly needs him and he intends to give her what she needs for as long as she needs him. With that, he heads for the bedroom, a sleeping Natasha snuggled in his arms. 

A diamond engagement ring sparkles from the floor of his messy dining room.


End file.
